Children of the Cross

By Lawrence Van Hoof

A golden fireball smashes into the Walters’ car during their summer vacation. Thirteen-year-old Cora survives without a scratch. Her brother, Nathan, spends two weeks in critical care and endures months of rehabilitation. Their parents are killed.

Nine years later, Cora works as a high-end call girl in Toronto and looks after Nathan, who suffers from schizophrenia, unaware of the supernatural mafia hunting the city for the one they call the Light. The mafia does not know what he looks like, nor how the powers of the Light will manifest, but their leader, Teresa, believes it is her only chance to destroy their progenitor before he wakes from his centuries-long sleep--and will do anything to find it.

When their search finally bears fruit, Cora’s daily struggle explodes into one for the siblings' very survival, perhaps requiring the ultimate sacrifice of all.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lawrence Van Hoof
• Release date: Apr 15, 2012
• ISBN: 9780987920843

Lawrence Van Hoof

Lawrence Van Hoof was born in Helmond, The Netherlands, and grew up in southwestern Ontario, Canada.He holds a B.Sc. in biochemistry from the University of Guelph.Currently he lives in Toronto, Canada, after teaching English for three years in South Korea.

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Prologue

The day started warm and clear when the Walters family left Ottawa, heading to a cottage they had rented near Algonquin Park. Mom and Dad sat in the front, Dad behind the wheel, while Nathan played his Nintendo. Cora eyed the pastures that dotted the low rolling hills, in between scruffy woods and the occasional marsh. For the last three years, she had wanted to take riding lessons, but Dad said they were too expensive and too much driving. She had to settle for looking at horses from the wrong side of the fence.

As well as horses, Cora hoped to spot a deer before they got to the cottage. Last summer she had seen two of them, a doe and fawn, along with three raccoons, and a fox that had zigzagged through one of the wide ditches near Barry’s Bay like it was confused or drunk. Nathan had called the fox Uncle Charlie—since their Dad’s friend always stank of beer—but Dad had not laughed and stopped the car long enough to box Nathan on the ears. Mom had said the poor thing had rabies and made them close the windows.

~

Around eleven-thirty, Dad drove through the town of Renfrew and grumbled about the price of gas. Cora settled back in her seat and toyed with the straps of her white sandals, and Nathan glanced up from his Nintendo.

Don’t be such a dumbie, he said. You’re not gonna see a deer. We’re not going in the park.

Don’t call your sister that, Mom said. You’re in enough trouble already.

It wasn’t me. I never touched that stupid tent.

Watch your mouth, Dad said.

Nathan made a face, which Dad didn’t see luckily, and went back to playing the Nintendo.

Ten minutes later, while they drove through a stretch of farmland peppered with scrub, Nathan started playing faster, battling some sort of boss. Cora shoved his left arm.

Hey! he said and elbowed her. She shoved back. He elbowed her harder, and she slapped his arm. Then he punched her in the arm, and she cried out.

Stop it! Both of you, Mom said.

Dad hit the brakes, stopping the car in the middle of the road. Cora and Nathan froze.

She started it, Nathan said. It wasn’t me.

Dad reached over the seating and slapped Nathan across the head. I don’t give a goddamn who started it.

Why don’t we just drive? Mom said. I’m sure they’ll be quiet now.

Dad ignored her. I don’t want to hear another goddamn word out of you, he said to Nathan. You’re lucky you’re coming along at all.

Silence filled the car, and Cora glanced at Nathan. He was too busy blinking back tears to notice. Dad must have hit him harder than usual.

Can we go? Mom said. There’s always people driving too fast on these roads.

Then shut them up, he said and put the car in gear.

For next few miles, Cora shifted back to her window and watched fields and woods whizz by. Nathan stared at Mom’s seat, trying to look tough.

Cora slipped a hand over to touch his arm. He shook her off and glared at her.

They drove into a town where cars had pulled over and people roamed yard sales lining both sides of the road. Mom wanted to stop. Just for a minute. She didn’t really need anything but what if the cottage didn’t have a good frying pan? They were always handy anyway. Or maybe a new lamp for Nathan’s bedroom. The old one had chunks missing.

Dad gave her a look that said, Over my dead body.

Once the yard sales disappeared behind them, Cora turned her attention to the woods ahead, trying to picture the deer she had seen last year. She hated when her parents fought. It always made her feel bad. Sometimes it even made her a little sick.

Cora rubbed her stomach saw a dead raccoon on the side of the road and a flattened piece of gray fur that might have been a squirrel. Gross. Then she heard a hiss and a pop from the speakers in the back of the car and glanced between the headrests. Had Mom turned the radio on?

Nothing else came out of the speakers, though, and Mom stared down at her hands, still upset, while an empty logging truck sped toward them down a long shallow hill.

What the hell, Dad said.

For a moment, Cora thought he meant the truck since it would scare away all the deer. They weren’t stupid. But then she spotted the gold fire surging out of the woods a hundred yards behind the truck and forgot everything else.

Nathan craned his neck to look too and dropped his video game. The logging truck jerked. Its tires screamed and smoked. A gold face appeared in the fire and roared past the truck, trailing a tail that shimmered like scales. Dad yelled and wrenched on the steering wheel. Everything slammed sideways—stomachs, lungs, kidneys, hearts, legs, brains. The car screeched. Mom screamed. Nathan screamed. The gold fire smashed into them and exploded. Cora’s body snapped tight. Her skin blazed. Then the tail end of the logging truck crashed down, and she knew no more.

~

Cora woke up feeling terrible. Her head throbbed. Her chest ached. Everything looked fuzzy and far away, and a chainsaw roared nearby.

She sucked in a breath, her lungs like wet sand. Two people shouted and appeared in front of her; both wore dirty armor with bright yellow stripes that reminded her of Dad’s uniform. A third man, with bionic arms, chewed on the car where Mom had been, her seat twisted like wet licorice.

Cora let her eyes drift shut. Had Mom gone to the washroom? When had they stopped?

The shouts of the men drifted closer, and Cora struggled to open her eyes. The men pulled a deer out of Dad’s seat. Someone had shot up the deer real bad, but she couldn’t focus on it and didn’t really want to. Her whole body felt tight. Her stomach wanted to burst open and make a mess. She didn’t want to make a mess. She just wanted to find Mom and go to the washroom.

The men in dirty armor returned and attacked the twisted seat in front of Cora. She remembered Nathan. Where was he? She could feel him beside her, but her neck didn’t want to work, and he wouldn’t look at her.

Maybe he was still mad at her.

Cora tried turning her head again and opened her mouth to say his name but managed only a weak gurgle.

The men shouted and backed out of the car. A loud crunch tore off the roof. Sunlight blinded Cora. The men surged into the car, and she wriggled her fingers, trying to touch Nathan. Pain shot up her arm. Her vision went dark.

One of the men in dirty armor shouted and attacked the seat in front of her. She gasped and stretched her hand a little more. Another jolt of pain surged up her arm. Her fingers brushed a thumb. The burning of the sunlight intensified. The men shouted and ripped out the seat, and she grasped the thumb—yes, Nathan’s thumb—but the men didn’t care and grabbed her and pulled and pulled until the darkness swept in and claimed her once more.

Chapter 1

It was a few minutes past midnight when Cora walked into her apartment, her head throbbing like a second heartbeat. More than anything, she wanted to sleep. Her bed felt so close—the sheets and pillowcases she had laundered that morning. But she had to get rid of the lawyer’s smell first, or she would wake up with him; and she never wanted to make that mistake again.

Next to the breakfast counter, she dropped her handbag on a stool and eased out of her high-heeled sandals. She brushed her blonde hair from her face, rubbed her forehead, and picked a bottle of water out of the fridge. The aspirin she had taken at the hotel hadn’t done much good. One more wouldn’t hurt. She just hoped she would get some decent sleep. No crazy dreams. No calls from Nathan.

In the master bathroom, Cora flicked on the wrong switch, and the big bulbs over the mirror blazed to life. She winced and pulled out the aspirins from the medicine cabinet. God, that was stupid.

Two pills later, she slipped out of her black evening dress and draped it on the rattan hamper. In the hamper, she tucked her lacy, black bra and matching panties, not looking at the latter too closely. She hated seeing the stains and the wet patches. Something always oozed out afterwards.

She shivered, sipped her water, and spritzed vanilla air freshener over the hamper. Her cellphone chimed from the kitchen. Probably Katrina? She always checked on Cora, especially after difficult customers.

On the toilet, Cora heard her cellphone chime again. She flushed the toilet and scrubbed her hands. She hoped it wasn’t her brother. Tomorrow she could handle him. Now she was too tired. Her head hurt too much.

She washed her hands again and pulled on a plush white bathrobe. In the kitchen, she fished her cellphone from her handbag and checked the list of calls. Yes, the last two had been from Nathan.

She sighed and pressed one to check her voicemail. The first message hissed for a second before cutting out.

During the second message, her brother said, Geez, would you fuck off. I just want a pizza.

Cora pressed a hand to her forehead and deleted the message. At least it wasn’t the police. Nathan just sounded a little confused.

She wiped the screen of her phone on the bathrobe and pressed two. Her brother’s number was busy, so she went back to the bathroom and turned on the shower.

Over the next twenty minutes, she scrubbed every inch of her body, focusing in particular on her groin and inner thighs and breasts. The lawyer had oozed sweat like a pine tree. She also washed and rinsed her hair and washed her mouth with a bar of peppermint soap she kept solely for that purpose.

Once finished, Cora grabbed a towel from the rattan storage tower and dried herself off. She spent another ten minutes brushing her teeth and gargling and plugged in the blow dryer, trying not to think about the roar in her ears and the pain spiking behind her eyes. The aspirins hadn’t helped at all.

Back in her bedroom, she slipped on a pair of white cotton panties flecked with pale blue flowers and a white cotton nightie. Her cellphone chimed from the bathroom. Cora rubbed her forehead and wondered if she should turn the volume off. Nathan would probably spend half the night trying to order a pizza.

She yawned and sat on her comforter. Even if she ordered the pizza for him, she would get the ingredients wrong. The pizza was always wrong, even when Nathan ordered it himself. He always changed his mind while waiting for the pizza to arrive, and the pizza in his head was what he expected the deliveryman to bring.

After another yawn, Cora shuffled into the bathroom and pulled out her cellphone. As frustrating as Nathan was sometimes, she couldn’t blame him. Having schizophrenia wasn’t his fault. It was stupid to even think about. He did what he did, and all she could do was hope for the best. That was her life. She had to live with it.

The phone showed one voice message and one text message, the latter from Katrina.

Call me tmrw re lucky no7.

Cora deleted the text message and closed her eyes. The last thing she wanted to think about was her client tomorrow. James—lucky number seven—was nice enough but old enough to be her grandfather.

The voice message was from Nathan. Fuck, it’s a goddamn pizza. Stop screwing it up.

She shook her head and called his number. After three rings it switched over to his voicemail, and she hung up and washed her hands. She wasn’t sure why she had even bothered adding the service to his phone. He never checked his messages anyway. She only ended up listening to them herself and worrying all the same.

~

With dawn crawling around the edges of her venetian blinds, Cora jarred awake from another dream: trapped in a hotel, the rooms and beds and halls crawling with shadows, all of it filled with the grunts and groans of men. One of the men wore an expensive suit, his penis hanging out like a dog’s tongue. The next one wore a lab coat and bent her over to thrust thermometers and pens and spoons and other long objects inside her. A pale man wanted to spank her with a pizza while a little nun from the Red Cross, her hair yanked back in a severe bun, chased after Cora with a giant needle. Nathan was hiding somewhere too, but he couldn’t get away. They had him tied down in a straitjacket.

Cora tugged on the drawer of her nightstand. She pushed aside the aspirins and lip balms and fumbled with the sleeping pills she had gotten from her doctor. Even though they rarely helped, she had to take something.

Pink pills skittered on the nightstand. More fell on the carpet. She glanced down, bleary-eyed, and shook another pill out of the bottle. Not too many. She had to be careful. She had promised. The rest she would pick up in the morning.

~

It was late, almost eleven, when Cora rubbed her head—what felt like a stuffed cabbage—and fished her wine-colored slippers from under the bed. She had to get up. She had to go to Nathan’s. Being consistent was important. Keeping promises. Like every other day she would get through it.

Still blinking the sleep out of her eyes, she shuffled into the bathroom and stopped abruptly. The lawyer’s stink lingered in the air: his sweat, his cologne, his cigarettes. How was that possible?

Cora rubbed her nose and flicked on the fan. From under the sink, she grabbed a big plastic bag and wiggled in the black dress from last night. The undergarments she stuffed in a smaller bag. She dropped both bundles in the bathtub, scrubbed her hands, and lit the beeswax candles sitting on blue saucers beside the tub.

Even though leaving the candles alone made her uneasy, the residue of too many stories from her father about burned-down homes and destroyed families, she shut the door to the master bathroom and hurried to the spare bathroom.

A few minutes later, back in her bedroom, she opened the sliding windows and checked her cellphone for messages. Nothing new. She hoped that meant Nathan had ordered his pizza. Otherwise he might have stayed up the whole night, fretting about conspiracies between the phone companies and the doctors and the superintendent.

Cora glanced at her alarm clock and called her brother. The line switched over automatically to his voicemail. Was he up yet? Some days he stayed in bed until she got there. Other days he woke up with the sun and disappeared in one of the parks near his building. There was no rhyme or reason. For him, time didn’t matter. He had nowhere to go. He had nothing to do.

It was sad, sometimes exasperating, but he didn’t have any interest in the programs meant to help patients integrate back into the community. He didn’t see the point. Nor did he trust them. He had had too many bad experiences already.

Cora headed back to the spare bathroom and turned on the shower. She pulled out a new razor and toothbrush from the extras she kept in the storage bin under the sink and hurried through her morning ritual—soaping, shaving, plucking, shampooing, conditioning, rinsing, moisturizing, brushing, flossing. Her nails she would worry about later. They looked fine. Good for another day or two.

Even so, it was already past noon when Cora, wearing a fresh bathrobe, circled around the beige couch in the living room and opened the door to the balcony. She picked up the pink watering can and filled it in the kitchen and soaked the basket of pink geraniums hanging on the balcony and watered the small plants that lined the window ledge inside the apartment. The whole week had been hot, more like August than June, and the sky was clear, reaching over Lake Ontario like a giant blue magnifying glass.

After returning the watering can to the balcony, she called Nathan again. His voicemail answered. She said she’d be there soon, on the off chance he actually listened to his messages, and changed into a yellow tank top and a pair of slim-fitting blue jeans. She also pulled out a red T-shirt with a tiny hole in the back from her dresser, which was painted white and had a big rectangular mirror, and tucked the T-shirt into an old H&M bag. She kept a few spare things at Nathan’s apartment for when she cleaned, but most of them needed to be washed.

Her cellphone chimed. For a second, she thought it might be her brother, but the screen flashed Kat C.

Cora slid the H&M bag on the dresser and answered the phone.

I wanted to see how you were doing, Katrina said. I know you weren’t too thrilled about last night.

Well, maybe it wasn’t that bad, Cora said. Except for his sweating. I think I was just tired.

You must have done something right. He already called to book you for his next trip into the city, but I wanted to check with you first.

Oh?

Can you talk? Or are you at your brother’s?

No, but I have to go soon, Cora said. I should be there already.

Don’t worry about it, then. There’s no rush. Just think about it, and we’ll talk later. Katrina turned away from the phone for a second and spoke to someone in Chinese. Probably one of her cats, in the midst of causing mischief. I also wanted to update you about James. He changed the restaurant to Sassafraz, which is about a block from his hotel. But I have a feeling he’ll change his mind again. He’s like a little puppy, peeing all over the place.

I know, he gets excited.

I’ll call around five to confirm the details, Katrina said. Right now the plan is for Straw to pick you up at seven so you can be in the restaurant by seven-thirty. I don’t want to take any chances with traffic.

That should be fine.

I’ve also got a package from Paul for tomorrow. I’ll courier it over after I get something to eat. Should be at your place by four.

So you looked it over already? For labels or anything?

Katrina made a clucking noise with her tongue. I’m a professional, sweetie. Discretion is everything.

Sorry, I know. I just worry too much.

That makes two of us, Katrina said. Us mother hens. Cluck, cluck.

Cora laughed a little and sat on the white wicker chair in the corner beside the dresser.

Anyway, I have to go, Katrina said. Call me if you need anything.

I will.

I know I can rely on you. You’re the one person around here who really knows what that means.

Don’t worry. I’ll be back in time. I promise.

Chapter 2

Around quarter after one, the cab dropped Cora off in front of Nathan’s apartment building. It was a brownish-yellow three-story with bricks crumbling in dozens of places, cloudy windows, and black paint peeling off the wood trim. To the right stood a garden center surrounded by green plastic fencing. To the left, on the other side of a dead-end street, rose a second apartment building, which had a sign on a striped pole that reminded her of an old motel.

She rummaged through her purse for her keys and walked up the steps of Nathan’s building. Since the foyer smelled vaguely of urine, the second time that month, and his mailbox was empty, Cora hurried up the front stairs. She didn’t want to bump into the superintendent either. Sometimes it felt like he stalked the halls, waiting for her to show up.

When she reached the third floor, she noticed her brother’s door was ajar and darted forward to knock. Normally he was quite careful about locking up. The neighbors seemed okay, but you never knew for certain. Temptation changed people.

Nathan? It’s me. Are you home?

After waiting a few seconds, Cora called his name again and nudged the door open. What she saw made her want to pull it shut again. Shirts, pants, socks, and underwear covered the green faux leather sofa. Spoons, forks, knives, and dishes were scattered on the rusty brown carpet, forming an arc around the door. All the windows stood wide open: the one to the left of the couch had already been missing a screen, but the screen to the right had a new hole the size of her head.

Nathan?

She stepped through the minefield of dishes and utensils and glanced in his bedroom. His sheets were tangled on the bed; his pillows lay on the floor. In the kitchen, she checked the stove was off. There were no taps running. Nothing looked broken. She walked back to the living room, rubbing her hands together, and noticed the gash on the top of the cherry-finish end table that Nathan had picked out at a garage sale the year before. When she had tried to point out a better coffee table, one without a gash, he had gotten upset so she promised herself to never say another word about it. Instead she had settled for hiding the worst of the damage with the phone.

But where was it? She didn’t see the phone anywhere.

The wall jack was empty too. There was no phone cord visible in the living room or the kitchen.

Cora turned to stare at the hole in the window screen. No, he didn’t. He couldn’t have.

She leaned against the couch and pressed a hand to her forehead.

When she felt steady again, she checked the bedroom and bathroom. Thankfully everything else looked normal.

After washing her hands, she took an aspirin and glanced at her phone. She wondered if she should look for Nathan. Sometimes he didn’t mind. Sometimes he did. She had a feeling he was close by.

She maneuvered through the utensils and dishes and fished her keys from her purse but needed both hands to tug the apartment door shut. Was that why he had left it ajar in the first place? The superintendent really needed to fix the stupid thing.

She took the back stairs down to the laneway behind the apartment building. One of Nathan’s more unfortunate habits was hiding out behind the garbage, perhaps because no one else wanted to be there.

With a hand to her nose, Cora hurried around the wooden fence surrounding the garbage bins, both of which reeked of rot and soiled diapers. No Nathan, thank goodness. She unlocked the rear door and darted back inside.

On the basement level, she passed the laundry room, thinking of the clothes strewn on his couch. He rarely did his own wash, but it wasn’t impossible. Maybe he had gotten confused.

She poked her head inside the room. A dark-skinned woman wearing a black hijab pulled clothes out of one of the washing machines while a pair of small girls with curly black hair played a game of patty cake. The woman avoided looking at Cora, but the girls stared at her like she had two heads.

Cora managed a smile and headed to the front door. Once outside she turned right, crossed the dead-end street, and walked past several apartment buildings, the last of which had white paint peeling from the walls. She glanced down a lane leading to the tennis courts behind the Alexander Muir Memorial Gardens. Beyond the tennis courts, the lane turned into a path that meandered through a series of ravines and eventually merged with the Don Valley, but she was positive he was a lot closer. She couldn’t explain the feeling—she’d probably sound crazy if she tried—but she could practically hear him shifting around, trying to get comfortable.

She continued north on the sidewalk, beside the green hedge of the Memorial Gardens, until she reached a black wrought iron gate that opened onto a brick path bordered by evergreens and shrubs. The path led to the heart of the gardens, but that still didn’t feel right, so Cora walked a dozen more feet and peered at the skinny park on the other side of Yonge Street.

About halfway in the park, amid the shadows of the maple trees, she spotted someone sitting on a bench, hunched over, wearing a black T-shirt.

Yes, Nathan.

She glanced left and right and darted across four lanes of Yonge Street, most of the traffic stopped for red lights. When she reached the other sidewalk, she paused to adjust the strap of her left sandal, and a car honked at her from the small gas station next to the entrance of the park.

She ignored the honker and walked between a pair of flower beds, onto an asphalt path. She could see Nathan’s hands twitching on his legs while his right foot tapped like he was listening to fast music. He probably didn’t even realize he was doing it. The bench had a fresh coat of green paint, covering up the graffiti from the winter and the spring. Behind the bench there was a row of scraggly shrubs and a concrete retaining wall, half of it repainted, the other half still splattered with graffiti.

Nathan? she said, stopping a few yards from the bench.

Her brother blinked and shook his head, his sandy brown hair scruffy and long enough to hang in his eyes. He needed to get it cut. He also needed to shave the bristly, brown growth off his face and throw out his T-shirt, which had a large hole in the right side.

Nathan flashed her a smile, almost feverish in its intensity. She sat beside him.

It’s really nice out today, she said. Especially here in the shade.

This is better, he said. The new spot. Much better. That bastard was too close.

Why? What happened?

He’s always trying to rip me off, it’s never enough, that cockroach motherfucker, god up his ass and down his pie hole.

Do you mean the superintendent? Did something happen?

The pig says I broke it, I saw him do it, Nathan said. But he just wants to blame the man, the one below, and blow it out his ass, like a good fucking leprechaun.

Cora closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

Nathan continued. I was just looking for something, something important, I know it was, but I don’t remember.

I know, it’s always the important stuff. Cora touched Nathan’s arm, but he pulled away and clamped his trembling hands between his knees. Do you want me to call the doctor? she asked. Maybe there was something wrong with your last needle?

Bastards, he said. Fat bastards.

I know it’s hard sometimes. But the doctor’s doing his best for you.

Yeah, they love doing it, sticking it to you. Stick, stick, stick. Always laughing, laughing their asses off.

Cora touched Nathan’s arm again. He hummed under his breath and shook his head. She felt the twitches shooting up his arms, the electricity he couldn’t control. Sometimes she wondered if it was actually something in his brain or just a side effect of his medication.

It’s all right, Nathan. It’ll be okay.

Yeah, bye, he said.

No, I’m not leaving, she said. We’re just sitting in the park, having a talk. It’s a beautiful day. Quiet. Relaxing.

Nathan laughed, harsh and loud. Like a dog.

It’s nice here, Cora said. Not too hot. Just right.

He won’t like it. Nathan pointed to the half of the concrete wall spattered with graffiti. He’s really fucking loud, all that shit music. Enough to drive you nuts. I can’t get him to shut up.

It’s all right, Cora said. It’s just temporary. He’ll be gone soon.

Nathan slapped a leg and swore. Cora waited. After a few more curses, he settled down and she rested a hand on his arm again. Normally he hated people touching him. He said it made him itch all over, like he had something growing under his skin, trying to push out. With her, though, it seemed to help. It reminded her of the first month after the car accident, when he lay in the hospital and the doctors thought he would never wake up again. She used to sit beside him, holding his hand, watching the respirator move his lungs. Aunt Clara didn’t think it was a good idea: Cora was too young, she needed to go outside and play. But that only reminded her their parents were dead and Nathan was the only one left. She had to be there to help him. She had to help him come back.

And for four years he did come back. He even managed to stay out of trouble throughout most of grade nine. The following year, he started getting suspended for fights and such and drove Uncle Abner crazy. It wasn’t until Aunt Clara developed cancer that Nathan settled down again. Yes, he still skipped class, but he spent a lot of that time in the hospital with her. The chemotherapy alone almost killed her, all for one more year of suffering.

At the west end of the park, a dog barked—a golden Labrador running after a ball—and Nathan jumped a little. The owner, a man wearing dark jeans and a red shirt, stood on the path, smoking a cigarette, looking in Cora’s direction.

Nathan muttered a curse. I wish he’d shut up. I can’t sleep anymore. He’s always so fucking loud.

We’ll find something to help, Cora said. We just have to keep trying. Have faith.

He shrugged. "C’est la vie, n’est-ce pas?"

Cora frowned.

Don’t look at me like that, he said. I’m not a retard.

Sorry. It’s just . . . you always hated learning French, Cora said. It used to make Dad really mad.

I don’t remember, Nathan said. I don’t want to.

I know. I jus—

He jumped to his feet. Christ, would you shut up. You always want to talk about that stupid shit.

Please sit down, Nathan. I won’t talk about it anymore. I promise.

I don’t want to remember any of it. It’s all crap now. It just makes it hurt more.

I know, I’m sorry, she said. I shouldn’t have brought it up. It’s just hard sometimes. I still miss them.

Nathan hovered in front of the bench, shaking his head like a big shaggy dog.

Cora touched his arm. Why don’t we just sit and enjoy the weather? We don’t have to talk.

Still shaking his head, he sat down. Cora fanned her face with her other hand. There was no breeze in the park, and Nathan really needed a fresh shirt and a shower. She already had enough bad smells in her life.

Nathan coughed and jerked his arm away from her. She glanced down and noticed his right foot had stopped twitching. His hands, too, which was strange. He shouldn’t change moods that quickly.

A few seconds later, her cellphone chimed and Nathan jerked away from her. What the fuck is that?

Nothing. She pulled out her phone and sent the call to her voicemail. Nothing important.

Sounds like a bunch of fucking church bells.

I think they’re relaxing.

You never had any taste.

Cora let the comment pass, remembering some of the thrashy metal he had listened to in high school, and switched her phone to silent mode.

You’re bells are fucking again, Nathan said.

She glanced down. Her cellphone started to flash, telling her she had a new message. She frowned and slid the phone back in her purse.

I was going to make supper, she said. Would you rather have potatoes or rice?

I just wanna take a piss. Nathan pointed the scraggly shrubs behind the bench. Water the lawn.

Someone else will take care of that. It’s supposed to rain this weekend anyway.

That’s no fun.

Cora studied him for a few seconds. Was he making a joke?

You seem a lot calmer, she said.

Thanks, he said and stood up.

Wait, you’re kidding, right?

Yeah, yeah. Don’t nag.

Sorry. I didn’t mean to. It’s just, you know.

Bing! Another shit deal for the Walters clan. Claim your prize.

Cora stood up. She still wasn’t certain if Nathan was joking or diving back into the dark twists of his brain. It made her nervous when he had swings like that. She had no idea what to expect.

When you coming back? he asked. I’ll surprise you with something, if that fucker doesn’t steal it. Tomorrow, maybe.

I don’t have to go. I can stay for a while.

I’m good, he said. A happy clam. Totally baked.

Are you sure?

What do you want me to say? No?

Of course not, she said. I just thought we could eat something. It doesn’t have to be at home. We can go to Tim Hortons, if you want, get a soup and sandwich.

Nathan shook his head. Too much noise. I’m gonna hang out by the river, go fishing.

Cora rubbed her forehead, the ache intensifying behind her eyes. What else could she do? She didn’t want to sound like she was arguing. He would only get defensive.

Okay, I’ll be at your apartment, she said. For a couple of hours anyway. I’ll make potatoes and roast and maybe beans. I don’t think there’s any pork chops left.

I got it, he said.

Without looking back, Nathan sprinted to the hill at the west end of the park.

Be careful, she called after him.

He waved a hand and chugged up the green slope, ignoring the stairways on either side, built with old railway ties. When he reached the top, he cut across Duplex Avenue without seeming to check for traffic, and Cora clutched her purse. Then he disappeared—no honks, no screeches—and she swallowed, her throat like a frozen garden hose. Someday he was going to get hurt if he kept doing things like that. He just didn’t think. And there wasn’t much she could do about it either, not without sending him back to an institution.

Cora took a deep breath and walked back to Yonge Street. She never wanted to go through that again: seeing him trapped with patients whose nightmares never stopped. She still remembered the man with red and purple blotches scarring his face and arms after he had tried to set himself on fire; and the beautiful, old woman who swore all the time and yelled about cunts and cocks and pussies and wanting to get it up the ass. Nathan only needed the right medication . . . a safe place to live. Then he was almost normal. Sometimes it seemed short-lived; some weeks were better than others. But at least he had a chance. He had a hope for a better tomorrow.

Everyone needed that.

Chapter 3

Teresa stood in the unlit interior of the boarded-up nightclub where she kept Father and breathed in the stink of death. After six centuries, it no longer bothered her. If anything, the blend of urine and feces and corrupt human flesh had become almost comforting. While the rest of the world spun around her, changing every minute, every day, death remained the one true constant. No mortal escaped it. She alone would stay outside of time. The rest simply deluded themselves, selling their souls for empty promises.

She brushed a hand over her silver crucifix and inhaled more of the